


what is mine

by rosynosed



Category: Degrassi, Degrassi the Next Generation, Degrassi: Next Class
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, happy ending...., uhhh mild mention of abuse bc miles daddy issues <3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26089483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosynosed/pseuds/rosynosed
Summary: Tristan had always described Miles as a tough pill to swallow, but never managed to mention the way he lodged himself in your throat
Relationships: Hunter Hollingsworth/Tristan Milligan, Miles Hollingsworth III/Tristan Milligan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	what is mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trxles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trxles/gifts).



Tristan’s at one of his pool parties again, and he’s really not sure why.

When asked, he’ll blame Zoe. He always does, it’s always Zoe’s fault when he puts himself in Miles’s wake. It’s Zoe’s fault as he breathes in the sickeningly familiar scent of Miles’ house. It’s her fault when is first thought upon getting a whiff is God, this smells like home. It’s Zoe’s fault when he has onslaughts of sleepless nights (and matching eyebags) because when the moon brushes the sky he dreams of him. It’z Zoes fault when the lull of a sickeningly sweet song on his car radio and every word sounds like his name. 

It’s her fault, it really is.

He’s in the middle of the swimming pool, and there’s beads of filtered water slipping down his skin. Tristan’s eyes lock on one droplet that grips at his lip and suddenly he’s wishing he was that stretch of blue lapping at his skin. Miles is grinning, a stretch of shining teeth peeling across his face, and its’ undoubtedly aimed at the swarm of girls around him.

Tristan feels nauseous when he sees this grin, it’s all too familiar. It’s his triumphant mask put on right before his slaughter. Like a star burning out, Miles is brightest before his ultimate collapse. And he is, he’s glowing- all brightened skin and effortless charm- and Tristan wants to dive into that pool and face him. He knows his dad must have been violent again, that his mom must be neglecting it. He wants to kiss it all better (and if he’s being honest, he’s not sure for whose sake).  
He watches Miles thread his fingers through some girl’s hair and Tristan’s wishing that his other hand would hold his head underwater. Chlorine bubbling in his mouth and lungs bursting at their seams. On some level he feels like he deserves it, for letting this boy go.

He’s wading through the water now, sauntering towards the steps. As more and more of his skin slides through the water’s grasp, a large muddled spot of an ugly black and blue grazes his hip. 

Tristan’s throat tightens, and he’s fighting the urge to run up to him, to press his lips against that wretched skin and tell the equally sordid boy that he loves him- and he does. He has loved him in the days in which he squirmed into those cage- like arms, and loved under starless curtains of black sky while gently weeping into a dampened pillow.

“I know it seems it,” he wants to say, “I know you think you can’t be loved, I know you don’t think I could do the job. Dear God, Miles if loving you is a fucking job I’d be employee of the fucking month.”

He doesn’t notice it, but his feet are walking towards that bewitching hell of a boy, and when he opens his mouth, those words in his head don’t come out- he’s just staring with an o shaped mouth and stupid, dewy eyes.

He’s smirking without teeth- and there’s a “devil may care” glint in his crease forming eyes. 

“Happy to see you here, Tristan,” it’s a sincere comment- but taunting. 

Tristan’s trying to figure out what to say. Miles let me help you. Miles you need me and dear God do I need you too. Miles, life has been so much harder without you. Miles, I miss you. Miles, are you okay? Miles, I love you.  
He should say one of those things, but he doesn’t, his vice comes out scathing and hoarse, 

“What’s your goddamn problem Miles?”

“And her I thought you were happy to see me,” his teeth are showing now.

Tristan grips the boy’s wrists and begins hauling him to another room, he knows people are watching- but that doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is Miles, it’s all that ever does.

“What do you think you’re doing? Showing off your bruise like it’s some sort of token, you wanted a reaction, didn’t you?”

He didn’t expect to be this angry.

“How do you know it’s not just a hickey?”

“Don't be a dick!” his fists are balled, and the ground feels like its spitting fire at his feet as he charges around the floor.

Miles doesn’t look smug anymore, he’s rigid and grim and looks like an unanswered prayer- desperate and solemn, 

He moves his mouth to Tristan’s ear and his breath is playing down the side of it, “Keep your mouth shut.”

Tristan had always described Miles as a tough pill to swallow, but never managed to mention the way he lodged himself in your throat. He tried to talk again but his words are continuing to fail. 

“Miles I’m worried,” is all he manages to sputter out. It’s clumsy and dry and sounds ugly from his own mouth.

“Tris-”

“You're spiraling, I don’t think you notice it but I do and-”

“Tris-”

“I really just want to see you get better but if you keep going on like this I don’t think you ever will. And I think what you really need is-”

“Tris-”

“A hand to hold because lord knows you’ve only known those two you already have. Your hands were made for holding so stop keeping them in fists!”

Tristan’s head hits a framed painting and his arms are pinned to the wall like darts on a target. Miles is running his hands down the platinum boy’s spine and digging in his mouth.

Tristan feels dizzy, because Miles still tastes like ripe tangerine and the hunger that comes with it. He gasps when it’s now Miles biting his tongue instead of himself. Tristan thinks about shoving him off, to have a conversation, but the way his knees tremble and heart pounds at his ribcage, like a fed up prisoner, keeps him exploring the boy’s mouth.

When he breaks the kiss, Miles, it’s slow and self conscious in a way that is so not traditionally MIles. When he looks at Tristan, it’s like he’s asking for repentance, or like he’s just got blood on his hands.

“I’ve missed you, sorry.” he turns around, and by the way his shoulders lower and his back hunches, Tristan can tell he’s about to stalk off.

So with quick fingers, he grabs MIles’s side and twirls him around to face him. Hands digging into ribs he pulls himself into Miles’s chest.

“You’re a mess I’ve been wanting to pick up for ages now, Miles,” he starts, “become my own and I’ll do what I can to fix you up.”

Miles has a grin plastered on his face, and he has a feeling this is going to be okay.

The bruise doesn’t hurt so badly when Tristan’s around.


End file.
